


But Friday (Never Hesitate)

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris doesn't like his job (or his boss) very much, but he does like Darren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Friday (Never Hesitate)

**Author's Note:**

> Mav, Michelle, and Rachel get all the love for propping me up while I wrote this.

**MONDAY**

Every day is the same for Chris. 

He wakes up at six in the morning, stumbles into the kitchen and feeds his cat. He slips into workout pants and a tank top and goes to the gym in his building, fighting for time on the treadmill with the soccer mom in her sweats and the frat boy wannabe who looks at Chris like he's some undiscovered level of scum. He goes back upstairs and showers, makes toast and eats it standing up and barefoot in his kitchen. He does his hair in front of the mirror in his bedroom, dresses in slacks and decides what shirt and tie combination. The goal: to look good, but not stand out too much. 

At seven-fifteen he grabs his keys and walks out the door, down and out into the crisp morning air to get into his car. The drive to work is short but morning traffic in Los Angeles makes even the few miles take forty minutes. 

He waves his ID at the sensor outside the door then falls into place in the line of people clocking in. His thumb presses to the screen and it beeps its acceptance, the time flashing up. Two minutes to spare; he can live with that. 

His desk is as neat and orderly as it had been the night before. He settles in and sets about checking things off the imaginary list in his head. Phone messages with notes jotted down while he checks his email, smiling absently at co-workers as they pass by. He gets more envious looks than sympathetic. Lots of people want his job; lots of people want to work for his boss. 

They wouldn't, Chris thinks, if they actually knew him. Paul Grayson is in his early thirties, successful, attractive, and an asshole. 

It's not just that he's a bad boss. He's - well. He's trickier than that. He's arrogant, selfish, superior, and just... an all around unpleasant person to be around unless he wants something from you. 

Paul doesn't even bother showing up to the office until nine-thirty most days, but Chris is expected to not only know when he arrives but to be in his office with coffee that's a tolerable temperature in hand within five minutes. Paul is a prick behind closed doors, and the second Chris gets the chance to move into a better position working for someone more reasonable he's going to take it. He doesn't think it'll be with this company, though; Paul is too powerful, he's fucked and fucked over just the right people to be in a position of power. 

To Paul, perception is everything and Chris is part of that; that very first night they’d met, not on an interview but in a club, writhing and dancing under strobing lights, too many drinks on Chris’s part and a predatory gleam in Paul’s eye. 

He’d woken up in bed with Paul the next morning and neither of them felt like lingering. To his surprise, just before he’d been ushered out the front door Paul had slipped him a business card. Chris thought he wanted a date and he’d already been trying to think of how to politely say no. Then Paul had smiled at him and said, “You mentioned last night you’re looking for a job? Come by my office tomorrow.”

Chris still isn’t entirely sure why Paul decided to hire him with no real office experience, but he’d been broke and twenty-two and desperate for a paycheck so he hadn’t questioned it at first.

He gets it, now. It’s really all about Paul surrounding himself with people he can manipulate, and he’d seen that in Chris. Paul wants to be the hotshot with the perfect assistant. Chris isn't sure he'd go so far as to ever refer to himself as eye-candy, but Paul has made it clear to him that he's to uphold a certain look (the look Paul likes). 

Chris wants to think that he has become good at his job, but he also knows that the reality of him falls short to the praises that Paul doles out at length when people are around. The breaking down comes hard and fast behind closed doors, though, like Paul has to make sure Chris is going to remember his place.

All Chris can do is try not to give him too many reasons to - including honing his psychic powers to try and guess when Paul arrives at work. 

This morning, Chris gets lucky. He's on his way to the mail room just after nine when he passes a window and looks out of habit. He spots Paul getting out of his car and redirects. He can fetch the mail after coffee, but it's a Monday and Paul is late which means he'll probably be a thundercloud of hungover pissiness. 

Chris heads to the coffee stand on the fourth floor. His step is a little more lively and he's glad that he's in the elevator by himself, because that means he can study his warped reflection in the metal wall and make sure his hair looks okay. 

He doesn't even drink coffee, but he's grateful that Paul does. It gives him an excuse to go see him. The barista. 

Darren. 

He rounds the corner into the lobby and there's absolutely nothing he'd be able to do to wipe the smile off of his face. 

Darren looks up when he realizes someone is heading his way and he beams at Chris, leaning forward on the counter. "Large half-caf skinny latte?" 

"Yeah," Chris says, slightly breathless. 

Darren bobs his head a little. He's had Chris's (Paul’s) order memorized for two months now, but he still repeats it every morning and looks elated that he has it right. "Coming right up." 

Darren looks good today. His hair is that mess of short curls and there's stubble on his cheeks and maybe even eyeliner smudged under his eyes? Fuck, now he's picturing Darren wearing eyeliner. He's wearing slouchy jeans and a t-shirt that fits everywhere but his arms, clinging too tight around his biceps. He's perfectly out of place here, and Chris has heard people asking why the coffee shop doesn't adhere to the building dress code but Chris finds himself grateful for it. Darren looks like a normal person, like someone his age. 

Most of the people in their early 20s that Chris sees during the day work in the mail office or the copy center, or they're from that particular breed of ruthless overachievers stomping their way up a career ladder with a vengeance. 

This isn't where he wants to be, but he's not going to give up a steady paycheck and move back home to live with his parents. No amount of workplace misery seems worth admitting that he couldn't make it in this town. 

He'll just enjoy that he gets to take a few minutes every day to enjoy small pleasures, like Darren's ass when he bends low for the milk carton. 

Chris gets to look his fill while Darren is busy making his drink. He's humming to himself like he usually is and Chris can't help stop himself from spitting the name of it. "Wonderwall?"

"And I said maybe... you're gonna be the one that saves me..." Darren sings back at him. 

Chris's whole world dips and tilts a little bit and he feels like his face goes fire engine red instantly. 

Then Darren is sliding the cup at him and ringing it up, and Chris has to somehow stifle the inappropriate teenage girl-esque urges inside of him until he's back in the elevator alone. He leans against the wall and sighs deeply, inhaling the familiar (though still not appealing) scent of the drink. 

Around floor twelve the door opens and someone else joins him, but by then he's managed to pull himself together. He squares his shoulders and nods a greeting at them. It's only a few more seconds before he's at his own floor, sixteen. He goes straight for his office to gather the daily calendar and messages and then heads in to see Paul. 

Paul is sitting at his desk, squinting at his computer screen. He looks up when Chris walks in. "Coffee," he says, reaching for it. It's neither a request nor a thank you, just an acknowledgement of what Chris has in his hands. 

"Here you go, sir," Chris says. 

In front of other people, he uses Paul’s first name. Paul wants to be seen as the casual boss, and he invites it. The first few times Chris used "Mr. Grayson" in public, Paul had laughingly corrected him. He likes to tell people how Chris was on a path of poverty before Paul ‘rescued’ him, talking about wanting to be a writer like it was some unheard of level of idiocy. 

In private, he seems ambivalent; the first time he gave Chris a dressing down so badly Chris had left the office shaking, Chris hadn’t used his first name in private again. It helped him close a door that he hadn’t been sure about before. Calling him by his last name is just another way of ensuring that what happened that first night won’t ever happen again. 

Chris can’t imagine wanting to be touched by someone he despises so much now. It’s not like he treats sex as a sacred bond, but he does at least want to like the person he’s fucking. 

Most of the time the name thing doesn’t matter, anyway. Not much point in responding with anything but sir to things like _fax this report_ or _grab my umbrella, I think it’s raining_. 

Yeah, Chris definitely likes being able to see the line neatly and clearly. 

Paul takes a sip of the coffee and Chris holds his breath hoping it'll be acceptable. It must be. Darren doesn't let him down often in that regard. 

Chris sits. 

"Okay," Paul says. "So what do I have for the day?" 

Chris runs down an itinerary. Meetings, including one that Paul is supposed to head, a phone conference, three reports due by the end of the day. Chris already knows he'll end up writing those; he's got the first one nearly done. For all that Paul mocks his desire to be a writer, Paul seems to trust his ability enough to pass along assignments to Chris without bothering to be afraid someone will realize he’s barely doing any of his own reports these days. 

But who would accuse him of passing along most of his responsibility to his twenty-three year old assistant anyway? 

No one, of course. But that's all right. Chris takes a certain amount of pride in knowing that he's capable of this, even if no one else knows it. He thinks after working for someone like Paul that no future boss could really demand more of him than he's able to give. 

Paul only halfway listens to Chris as he goes through the calendar. When Chris is finished he sits with a pen poised between his fingers, ready to copy down notes and instructions for the day. Paull takes a breath and looks over his computer screen and then starts to talk. 

An hour later, Chris is finally heading back to his own office. He sits at his desk and stares straight ahead. 

His boss is tired and out of it enough that he hadn't yelled. He's got a head start on his work for the afternoon and shouldn't miss any deadlines. The phone isn't ringing off the hook for once. 

And he got to see Darren. Not only did he get to see Darren, but Darren sang to him. (At him, really, not to him, but it's close enough for Chris.)

Today is one of the good days. 

 

**TUESDAY**

Tuesday starts just like Monday did. 

Alarm, cat, gym, shower, breakfast, car. Messages, email, calendar, coffee, (Darren), Paul. 

But on Tuesday morning Paul is surly. The coffee is too sweet, but he can't spare time for Chris to go get another. (The disappointment sings throughout him. An extra visit downstairs might be worth the attitude.) 

That's only the beginning of the complaints though. The meeting Paul has for the afternoon will surely bleed late; Chris needs to reschedule the phone call with Jenkins. Doesn't Chris know that meetings where Jakobi has the floor always run long? Doesn't Chris know not to schedule the phone calls for so soon between? Does Chris expect him to teleport between the downtown office and this one? And what about lunch? 

Things Chris doesn't point out: the phone call was in the books before the email about Jakobi's meeting came through. The meeting has catered lunch. Paul can have his calls routed to his cell phone, so he doesn't actually need to be in the office to take the call. 

Chris doesn't say any of it because he's a good assistant and part of being a good assistant is taking it all and not arguing back. Even when his remarks could be helpful, even when he could save them all a lot of time and headache - there's nothing Paul hates more than being corrected. So Chris nods, agrees, apologizes, promises to do better, and escapes as soon as he can. 

Lunch is a respite that Chris greatly appreciates on the days he's afforded the time for it. Today is one of those days; he's not attending the meeting with Paul, so he's left to his own devices for a full hour.

He lives alone and rent isn't cheap. Most days he makes a sandwich from ingredients in his mini-fridge, but it's been a bad morning and he feels like splurging... not so much on something to eat but on the chance to spend a few extra minutes on something to make himself smile. 

"Hey," Darren says, surprised to see Chris in the lunchtime crowd. "Half-caf-" 

"No," Chris says, interrupting him. He gets a brave, fluttery feeling as he deviates from the normal script between them. "That's for my boss. I mean. That’s his order. Today I want - I'll take-" 

He doesn't go to coffee shops often. When he does, he usually just orders chocolate milk. He hates coffee. 

But does he want Darren to see him as someone who prefers chocolate milk to drink? He’s not sure exactly how old Darren is, but he wears a University of Michigan shirt sometimes and the two days that the air conditioning broke while set to 55 he’d worn a similar Michigan hoodie so Chris is guessing he’s at least out of college, in his mid-20s. 

(Not that he obsessively studies everything Darren wears. Or does. Or says.)

"Mocha," he says. 

"Oh, cool! Awesome." Darren beams at him. "Iced or hot?"

"Iced," Chris says. He hasn't really tried it iced before, but he doesn't think it could really be worse than hot coffee. At least it won't burn his mouth. 

He hands over his debit card to swipe, his personal one. Darren glances down at it before he hands it back. "Chris. Nice to meet you, Chris. I'll get that iced mocha out for you in just a minute." 

"Thanks," Chris says, breathless. 

Chris watches Darren make his drink. Darren looks over at him. "You like whip?" 

The first place Chris's mind goes to is definitely not PG rated, nor does it have anything to do coffee. “Only if you ask nicely.” It flies out of his mouth before he can think to filter it. “Oh my God, that was so inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

Darren laughs, a loud burst of noise that echos through the room. “Are you kidding? That’s like the best line I’ve heard all day. I’m totally stealing that. But - oh, yes or no?” He holds up the cannister of whipped cream. 

He has a feeling his face is already pink. "Yeah. Yes. Please." 

Their fingers brush when Darren hands him the drink. It's not entirely an accident. 

Coffee doesn't taste any better iced than hot and he essentially spends four dollars on something he dumps out as soon as he walks away, but it's entirely worth it for Darren saying his name and the teasing and the wink and that faintest of touches. 

 

**WEDNESDAY**

It's always hard to get up on Wednesdays. 

Chris isn't sure why. It's not like his Tuesday nights are all that wild and crazy. He writes on his laptop, watches mindless reality tv, makes dinner. Sometimes he orders pizza in if he's feeling particularly reckless. He has a drink or two, some nights, but alcohol is expensive and his job might not be the worst paying ever but it's also far from the best. 

He'd had a roommate when he'd first come to Los Angeles, but that hadn't lasted more than a month. He still feels a sickening twist of embarrassment and shame when he remembers the slurs and shouts his roommate hurled at him. 

_The ad on Craigslist didn't say anything about living with a fag._

Chris hadn't just taken it, of course. He'd left - borrowed the money from his parents to break his lease and found a place by himself. He's long since paid back what he owed, but the miserable first few weeks in this town left him gunshy about sharing his space with anyone else. 

So there's no one to judge him for sitting on his couch in his underwear eating Cheetos out of the bag and watching cartoons. 

(No one to wrap him up in a hug after a long, stressful day.) 

No one to judge him for drinking straight out of the carton. 

(No one's toothbrush in the holder next to his.) 

No one to comment when he goes through a 24-pack of Diet Coke by himself in under a week. 

(No one to kiss goodnight.) 

He spends Tuesday night too wrapped up in thoughts of no one in particular and Wednesday morning his eyes don't want to open while the alarm blares a song that used to be a favorite and by now he really just hates. 

He's four minutes late clocking in. That probably won't go unnoticed, but there's nothing he can do about it now. That's his mantra for the day already; nothing he can do about it. His feet drag a little on his way into the office. 

There's a voicemail from his boss, the third out of seven messages. Something's gone wrong, a report not filed down the right channel. Now they won't get a purchase requisition in time for catering to a conference their company is hosting. 

Blood pounds in Chris's ears, panic threatening to drown everything else out. 

Paul hates it when people fuck up.

Chris hates it when the fuck ups are his own fault, and he knows it. He’ll still have to walk on eggshells if Paul is in a bad mood, be the receptacle of his venting and frustration, but somehow it’s a little more okay when Chris knows _he_ hasn’t really done anything wrong. When he has - it’s just an awful feeling. 

If he can get the report back, if he can smooth it over with the supervisor whose own work line is blocked by this fuck up, then maybe it’ll be okay- if he’s the one that gets the brunt of the lecture and not Paul-

He scrambles to make it right and he's still on the phone when Paul pushes the door to his office open. 

He's livid, but he waits until the office door is shut to really unleash. He's quiet as he watches Chris and Chris is aware of every word being scrutinized and studied and judged. 

It helps matters that by the time he's off the phone, he's already repaired the mistake. He'll drive the forms over to the other office himself and make sure they get into the right hands. 

It doesn't stop Paul from berating him. He still gets to hear at length how lousy and useless he is, how he should be lucky that he even has a job considering his massive ineptitude.

Chris feels himself sinking lower and lower, into that place that it won’t be easy to shake free from. 

Paul ends it with, "And where's my fucking coffee?" 

So Chris goes to get him his fucking coffee.

For once he's not actually thinking about seeing Darren when he walks up. He's just thinking about the fact that his absence will give his boss some time to gather up some expletive filled thoughts. He can discount getting any kind of lunch break today. He knows the way things go when he fucks up so early on. He'll most likely spend his lunch cleaning out Paul's car or doing his errands. 

His phone buzzes with a call just as he steps off the elevator. 

"You didn't add the taxi fees on the reimbursement form for the conference last week," Paul snaps. 

Chris's stomach drops again. "No, I- there weren't any receipts-" 

He knows as soon as the words come out of his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. There are times when Chris can explain why he has or hasn't done something, but this is not one of them. 

"Today is not the day for your fuck ups, Colfer. You're costing me money." 

It's maybe sixty dollars. Chris has seen Paul spend more on lunch, but it could be six dollars and it wouldn't change the reaction any. He steps out of the coffee line until the call is over, not wanting to hold everyone up.

He's not about to try and defend himself or rationalize it again so he just lets Paull talk. His gaze wanders over to the coffee stand and he feels even more miserable when he realizes that every few seconds Darren is glancing his way, a slight frown on his face. 

His eyes start to sting and he turns away, his back to the stand, so no one sees. He doesn't actually cry but he can't really control the way his mouth screws up with the effort of keeping it all inside. 

"Are you on your way back yet?" Paul asks, finally run out of steam again. 

"I'm getting your coffee, sir," Chris says. 

"Stop by Sarah's desk on your way back up. She has some forms I need." 

"Yes, sir," Chris says. 

"My office in twenty minutes." Paul finally hangs up after that. 

Chris takes a minute just to breathe and school his features back into something more unreadable. He can't quite manage a smile as he steps up to the counter, but he's had years of practice in school pretending everything is okay when down inside he feels like bursting into tears. 

Darren doesn't say anything to him. He just looks at Chris in that way that lets Chris know Darren knows something is wrong. It's embarrassing, at best - borderline humiliating. 

"Mocha?" Darren asks, sounding almost hopeful. 

Chris shakes his head. "Just the usual." 

"Sure thing." Darren turns and makes the drink, but when he's done he leaves it on the counter out of Chris's reach while he walks over to the glass display case. 

He pulls out a chocolate chip cookie and puts it on a napkin and grabs the drink, pushing both of them toward Chris. 

"I didn't order-" 

"I know," Darren says, smiling just a little bit. "But who doesn't like cookies? On the house." 

"I - oh." Chris stares dumbly down at it. "I... thank you." 

"And I welcome you." Darren finishes ringing him up and hands over the receipt. He looks like he's about to say something else, so Chris doesn't walk away yet but all Darren says is, "Enjoy it." 

Once he's back in the elevator, Chris looks down at the cookie in one hand and the coffee in the other. He smiles and takes a bite; it's warm and slightly gooey, better than he'd expect from a tiny little coffee shop like the one Darren's in, barely more than a stand set in the corner of the lobby. 

The rest of the day passes slowly, but it does pass. Respite comes when Paul leaves two hours early for a vague appointment. Chris has worked double-time all day to make sure that all of his bases were covered and now he's left to respond to emails and answer the phones. 

The only thing he's had to eat all day is the cookie, and his stomach starts to growl. He thinks of how good it was, and wishes he had another, but he's not feeling reckless enough to leave his desk abandoned in case Paul calls the office phone. He sighs and pulls a granola bar out of his drawer.

When he gets home, he’ll call Ashley and see if she wants to go get a drink. She’s his constant shoulder to cry on, she’ll remind him that maybe there’s hope. 

 

**THURSDAY**

Chris wakes on Thursday morning with a hard on and the remnants of a dream about Darren bringing him a cookie. In the dream, Darren is in Chris's kitchen and he's barefoot, wearing jeans and a soft gray t-shirt. Dream-Chris knows how soft it is because after he takes the cookie he fists his fingers into the material and uses it to tug Darren closer, pressing a kiss to his stubble-covered cheek. Dream-Darren just laughs a little bit, a laugh that sounds like expensive chocolate tastes and makes Chris yearn for something he's never quite had before. Somehow the cookie is gone then, and it's just Darren pressing him against the counter and a warm, wet mouth slanting over his. 

He's panting as his hips shift restlessly on the bed, groaning in frustration as he floats toward consciousness and the boy in his dream slips away. The melancholy of waking stays with him the rest of the morning. 

He calls Ashley on the way in. 

"It's too early for this shit, boo. Someone better be dead." She says it like she's exasperated, but he knows it's an act. She sounds wide awake, probably getting ready for work herself.

Chris sighs and then doesn't even try to mask the bluntness of his next statement with small talk. "I'm lonely." 

"Awwww." Ashley pauses what she is doing to coo at him. "I got the hook up, you know that. I'll set you up on so many blind dates you'll learn how to say _I'd tap that_ in Braille." 

Chris snorts in a very indelicate way. "Not quite there yet, sorry." 

"But soon?" She asks. 

"Maybe. Just..." He sighs. "I'm lonely, and there's this... guy." 

"Whaaat? You been holding out on me?" Ashley's voice sounds far away for a moment, then close again. "Okay, spill. How many bases have been rounded?" 

"Calm yourself, woman," Chris says. "We haven't even bought tickets to the game yet." 

"Ouch." 

"I'm not even sure he plays the game. Or at least, not for my team," Chris adds. 

"So find out. See which way the wind blows." 

"You busted the analogy. Drinks on you tomorrow night." 

"You little shit. Just because I don't have your way with words-" 

"Trust me, you wouldn't say I had a way with words if you saw me around him." Chris makes another turn, Ashley's voice still filtering through his bluetooth. 

"So just put on your big boy skinny jeans, the ones that show off that fine ass, waltz yourself right up to him, and ask him if he takes it up da butt." 

Chris doesn't know if he should laugh or groan, so does both. "It's not that easy. I see him every day at work, so it could get awkward if I did try to ask. I don't even know if he's single, to start off with, and even if he is-" 

"He might be straight." She just sounds sympathetic now. 

He doesn't wear a ring, so Chris doesn't think he's married, but that's only one small obstacle overcome. The perpetual frustration of the gay man when attempting to approach anyone outside of an actual gay bar or LGBT gathering. Chris has only been brave enough to try a few times but the couple experiences he's had with that particular brand of disgust on the face of someone he formerly fancied has stripped him of his courage.

It's not that Chris doesn't date. It's just that he tends to go overboard in assuring himself that his advances won't be met with derision if he does. He can handle rejection from someone that just isn't interested... but he's not sure he could survive losing the tenuous threads of connection he has with Darren; the connection of, if not actual friendship, friendly behavior. The previous day has proven that the brief moment of kindness can save his sanity. 

"Well, hon," Ashley says. "If you decide you want to give it a shot, I told you. Gay boy numbers out the wazoo. I can make sure you're a little less lonely." 

"You do, Ash," Chris says, suffering a bout of intense fondness for her. 

She laughs. "I love you, too, but all the hag-love in the world ain't gonna warm those sheets." 

Maybe she's right, he thinks. Maybe he just needs to get laid. Something quick and simple, satisfying but uncomplicated. Ashley is hardly exaggerating about the number of gay male friends she has. She could find him someone. Not who he wants, but - someone. 

It never really works out like he thinks it should when he tries, though. Uncomplicated means empty, and empty isn't satisfying. (Not to mention what ‘uncomplicated’ had gotten him the last time he’d done it.)

He wants more. He wants someone to kiss him awake in the morning and press him up against the counter. 

"I'll let you know if I change my mind," Chris promises. "I'm at work, so I have to go now, but I'll talk to you later." 

He hangs up to the sound of her blowing kisses at him. 

It is a peaceful morning with Paul coming in late and looking satisfied in ways that Chris doesn't really want to think about too much, since he’s seen that expression once before when he _did_ know the reason. Either way, Chris should count it as a blessing since Paul disappears into his own office with a request not to be disturbed except for his coffee. 

Darren isn't working at the coffee stand. It it’s the other guy, but Chris is almost glad. He didn't need the extra dose of nerves and he's still embarrassed about Darren knowing he was upset the day before. He gets the coffee from the guy behind the counter, not even catching his name, and the delivery is uneventful. 

Three hours later, he's in the middle of filling out a report when there's a knock at the door. 

"Come in," he calls out, glancing up when he hears the door open but no one walks in. 

Paul stands there, eyeing Chris in a way that makes Chris's skin prickle. His cell phone is in his hand. He looks tense at first and then abruptly his expression brightens, like something has just occurred to him. 

"Did you need something, sir?" Chris asks. 

Paul shakes his head. "No. But get your stuff. We're going to lunch." 

Chris can't shake the feeling that he's done something wrong or something bad is about to happen as he quickly straightens his things and grabs his jacket. Paul is waiting by his door, talking on his cell phone again. 

Chris catches the tail end of the conversation, what sounds like reservations being made somewhere. He stands there until he's done, and when Paul starts walking toward the elevator Chris follows behind. 

He's ridden in Paul's car before, of course. Meetings all over town where Paul wants him to take minutes, errands out to get it detailed or run it through the car wash. It's a black Camaro, less than a year old, and it suits the personality of it's owner creepily well. It's a machine intent on impressing and intimidating at the same time. 

The black leather seats feel sun-warmed even through Chris's slacks. Music with a heavy bass and cringe-worthy lyrics booms through the car as soon as Paul starts it. 

"Sushi sound good to you?" Paul asks. 

"Sure," Chris says. 

"Hey." Paul looks over at him and smiles. "Relax, okay? I know you had a rough day yesterday, but you got it all worked out and that's what matters. Fixing your mistakes. That's the sign of a good employee. Once you learn how to avoid making them in the first place, you'll be unstoppable." 

"Oh. Um. Thank you," Chris says.

He's still uncomfortable, but the praise is as nice to hear as it is unsettling. He isn't used to the little glow of pride in his stomach. The praise he gets in the workplace usually comes from himself; outside of work, sure, Ashley and his other friends are happy to tell him how amazing it is but it always falls a little flat. He doesn't work for them. They don't _know_.

Paul keeps up conversation himself, happy to dominate it during the drive. Chris manages to relax enough to laugh, and even make a few comments himself. 

"So," Paul says, once their food has arrived. "I have a little favor to ask." 

Chris stops with a california roll raised halfway to his mouth. 

He really should have known. "Ah, oh?"

"Yeah... there's this little get together tomorrow night and I'm supposed to bring a plus one..." He gives a smile that Chris thinks is probably supposed to be sheepish. It still just looks creepy. “I had a date, but the asshole canceled last minute. And you know, Colfer... you clean up well.” 

Paul hasn’t used that voice on Chris since the night he asked Chris to come home with him. Chris can’t even put words to how much it turns his stomach now. 

“I don’t know-” Chris starts to say, trying to be careful about it. 

“We can take the afternoon and go get you something to wear,” Paul says, leaning back in his chair. “You know you want an afternoon off. I mean, you probably just check facebook on that computer in your office all afternoon anyway, so maybe that’s not too much of a difference, but everyone likes playing hookie.”

“I just...” Chris can’t really find the words to say he’s uncomfortable with it that won’t make it sound like an accusation (even though really maybe it is). 

Paul’s jaw sets with irritation regardless. “I’ll pay you,” he says, losing a little of the charm. “This is an important event. I don’t want to show up alone.” 

Chris realizes in that moment that, even though the invitation was couched in a smile, it’s not really a request at all. 

He nods. 

The next two hours are spent walking around a shop, Paul picking out an outfit that probably costs more than Chris makes in a week. He stands there quietly, a prop to be talked around and not to, and his sense of dread grows. 

He doesn’t remember most of what he tries on but the one thing that does stand out is the way Paul’s expression changes when Chris steps out of the dressing room in the outfit he’s chosen. The pants are so tight he can hardly breathe and the shirt isn’t even remotely something he’d get for himself, but it probably looks good by anyone else’s standards. 

It certainly must please Paul , because his gaze goes predatory in a way that chills Chris down to his core in the most unpleasant way. 

“Colfer, this night might not be so bad after all if I get to look at that ass.” Paull steps in close and puts a hand on his shoulder, directing him to turn. Paul is close enough for Chris to smell the fish he’d had with lunch. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll do more than look. You’ve probably been gagging for another taste, haven’t you?” 

Chris closes his eyes tightly. 

This day can’t end fast enough for him. He doesn’t even really remember what Paul ends up buying for him. 

Its half past three when they finish. “You can take the rest of the day,” Paul says. “I think I will.” 

He drops Chris off, not even bothering to go back inside and clock out properly. Chris gets inside the doorway and then stops, realizing that he could go home but... why? As much as he’d like a scalding hot shower, he’s not actually sure that just sitting at home thinking about what will happen in just over 24 hours is going to do much for his mental state right now. 

He heads toward the elevator bank instead. There are a few other people in with him, and it stops on the floor with the cafeteria and coffee. He thinks of the cookie the day before, and ends up following a middle aged woman off when it stops on that floor without really thinking about it. 

Darren is there. He’s surprised, because Darren hadn’t been there that morning- 

But he’s here now, smiling at the woman in line in front of Chris and then looking over her shoulder. 

Chris wants to think Darren’s smile gets a little wider. 

There’s no one left in the little lobby-like area once she walks away. It’s just Chris and Darren and the tv playing with a little cluster of empty tables and chairs spread around in front of it. “You weren’t here this morning,” Chris blurts out, then is immediately embarrassed. “I mean - when I came for coffee.” 

“Aww, you missed me?” Darren crosses his arms on the countertop, leaning in. His warm smile fades though. “Hey. You, um. Doing okay?” 

“I-” Chris starts to say I’m fine, and then stops. He lets out a shaky laugh. “No, actually.” 

“Want to talk?” Darren asks. 

“Oh, I don’t-” Chris starts to shake his head right away. 

“Hey, come on. I was a bartender for like half a year, that’s practically a degree in therapy by itself. It’s pretty dead this time of afternoon, let me make you a drink and we can grab a seat over there.” Darren smiles encouragingly. “You liked that mocha, right? Or want to try something new?” 

“New, maybe,” Chris says. He really hated the coffee drink. 

“How about like, caramel something?” Darren hums to himself as he surveys the bottles. “Or hazelnut?” 

“Caramel is good,” Chris says, continuing to stand there. 

Darren looks over and sees him. “Go sit down. This one’s on the house.” 

“But yesterday-” 

“Was on the house, too. The house is generous, don’t question it.” Darren actually winks at him. 

“The house must not make much money if it’s this generous all the time,” Chris says. His stomach is still doing that weird twisty-tingly thing, but it doesn’t feel as scary as it did that morning. Maybe he’s just got that reckless, nothing to lose thing going on. 

He’s basically whoring himself out to his boss, anyway. Why not shamelessly hit on the probably heterosexual barista and just go for a home run in workplace awkwardness? 

The thought is sobering enough that he’s withdrawn again by the time Darren walks over with two drinks in his hand, and a little paper baggie with the coffee shop logo between his teeth. He puts the drinks down then the baggie. “Cookies! Sorry they were, you know, in my mouth. I didn’t slobber on them, I promise.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Chris tries to joke. If his laugh comes out a little half-hearted, well. He’s doing the best he can. 

“So. You look like you’re having a shitty week,” Darren says, bluntly. 

Chris nods, not even bothering to try and deny it. “Yeah. Pretty shitty.” 

“Tell me about it?” Darren breaks a cookie in half and slides the rest over to Chris. 

“I just...” Chris hesitates, because outside of Ashley he hasn’t really talked to anyone about Paul. “My boss. Is - awful.” 

Darren snorts a little bit. “I’ve had shitty bosses before, I feel you.” 

“No, he - he just.” Immediately Chris regrets starting to talk about this at all. Darren’s probably right. Everyone has bad bosses. What makes his situation that much worse than anyone else’s? Even if he does explain it, Darren will probably just think he’s blowing it out of proportion. “You’re right, sorry.” 

“What?” Darren looks alarmed. “No, man, no, I wasn’t trying to like - make light of it. Whatever this dude is putting you through, I know you’re... you must...” 

“What?” Chris asks, curious to know where this is going. 

Darren looks at him, expression going - not somber, exactly, but more serious. “I see you every day. Most of the time you look like you’re miserable and you just... no one should look that sad every day.” 

Chris is shocked by a touch to his hand. He actually jumps a little bit, making a smile flicker over Darren’s face. “Do I really look that bad?” 

“I said sad, not bad,” Darren says, another little smile, this one almost - maybe - flirty. “You walk in here with this look on your face like you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have fun and let loose. I’m not trying to pass judgements on anything, I don’t know what you do when you leave this place. I just know how fucking bummed you look while you’re here and it gets to me. You ever just see someone and think, fuck, I want to make them smile? That’s me, with you.” 

Something about that - the pure burst of joy hearing it puts in him - is too much for Chris. He’s been jerked from such a low to such a high and he can’t handle it. He tugs his hand away from Darren’s and then uses both to cover his face, feeling his eyes flood again. 

He won’t cry, he won’t cry, he won’t cry. 

“Fuck, Chris, are you okay? I’m - I’m sorry if that was out of line, shit, I can just-” 

“No,” Chris gasps. He’s struck with the strange urge to laugh and gives in to it. “This is just... really nice to hear. After earlier- he, um, my boss, he’s making me go to this thing with him tomorrow night as his date, and I think... I’m pretty sure he’ll get drunk and try something and I just... I don’t want to lose my job but-” 

“Are you shitting me?” Darren interrupts him. “I mean, are you serious?” 

Chris nods jerkily. “I know it’s not the worst thing-” 

“You really think that scumbag is gonna put his hands on you, and if you don’t let him you’ll lose your job?” Darren asks. “That’s pretty fucking close to the worst thing in my book. Has he pulled anything like that before?”

Chris starts to shake his head, and then shrugs. “Maybe just- kind of.” 

He thinks of the little comments, little moments he’d pushed out of his mind. 

He’s always sort of assumed that based on how they met, he deserved it. 

He literally fucked his boss and got a job. Does it even matter that the job came after? 

Paul will only expect what Chris has given him before. 

“Like what?” Darren asks. 

“Just. He’ll say things about what I’m wearing, or. Talk about how my pants look... on me. And sometimes - he puts his hand on my shoulder or back or, or my waist. It’s not anything worth reporting, but-” Chris should tell the rest of the story, should tell Darren why and then Darren will understand why Chris shouldn’t be complaining. 

“Bullshit,” Darren says, with surprising viciousness. 

It feels refreshing to let this out. He’s soaking up the sympathy like a sponge, so Chris keeps going. “He also likes to brag about his sex life to me. He talks about guys he’s brought home, and sometimes he shows me pictures. I don’t - I never know what I’m supposed to say. Like. Good job? I don’t know. He looks at me like he expects me to be impressed.” 

“Okay, so, asshole and douchebag, that’s awesome.” Darren grimaces. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that.” 

“I can’t lose this job,” Chris says, sighing. He looks down, watching a drop of condensation from his coffee cup drip down the side and join the small puddle on the table. “I don’t know what else I’d do.” 

“What do you want to be doing?” Darren asks. 

Chris lets himself answer honestly without overthinking it. “Writing.”

Darren’s face lights up. “You’re a writer?” 

Chris shrugs sheepishly. “I try.” 

“Me, too. Kind of. Like. I write songs, not stories, but they’re kind of the same thing, you know? It’s all just - making someone feel something using words.” 

“And music, for you,” Chris points out. “Music is powerful.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not saying music is nothing without words, but it helps. I’ve got a crutch, you know? Music can set the stage, I don’t have to rely just on what I’ve written. And you don’t need stamina to write a song, not like a story.” Darren stares at him with this look on his face, like Chris is just the coolest thing he’s ever seen. 

He realizes Darren is just trying to cheer him up, but he also feels like Darren really means it, and that warms Chris to his core.

“So are you just a songwriter, or do you sing, too?” Chris asks. 

That’s all Darren needs to launch into a long, rambling story about his path as a musician. Chris learns about it all, how he came from San Francisco, his college days in Michigan, how he has this job part time to keep his bills paid. It’s a typical story for people in this town but Chris finds fascination in the telling of it. Darren has to stop once or twice to make drinks for people, but business is slow and he always comes right back to Chris. 

He loses track of how long they’ve been sitting there until he realizes that people from the offices on the floor are migrating towards the elevators. 

“Oh, fuck,” Darren says. He looks distrestressed. “I gotta get out of here, I’ve got a gig tonight.” 

There’s a pause and he looks at Chris and Chris knows what his line is. Where’s the gig? With that one question, he could make this into something - if not what he really wants, at least a friendship, maybe. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t. 

“Okay,” he says, disappointment already settling into his gut. “I’m sorry, I should - I should go home, too. I didn’t mean to keep you.” 

He wants to think Darren looks disappointed too, but the second the thought crosses his mind, he dismisses it. “It’s cool,” Darren says. “Takes me like ten minutes to close up here.”

Darren is probably going to some bar to meet his girlfriend, anyway. 

“Oh,” Chris says. “Okay.”

His pretty girlfriend. Who has girlparts. And probably great hair. And a great job. 

“Hey, can I get a hug first?” Darren holds out his arms. “Please?” 

Chris smiles, because he can’t not. The expression forms with absolutely no ability to stop it. “You want to hug me?” 

“Yeah. You had a shitty day. I hope I helped you cheer up some, but just in case, hugs are like a backup plan.” Darren waves his hand a little. “Don’t leave me hanging here, bro.” 

Chris laughs, hand covering his mouth little. “Did you just call me bro?” 

“Chriiiiis.” Darren pouts. 

“Okay, okay.” Chris steps into the embrace. It’s not a quick, perfunctory hug - it’s a full on embrace, Darren’s arms tight around him and their chests pressed together. He can smell Darren’s hair and his aftershave and Chris will live on this memory for weeks. He means it for so much more than just coffee and a cookie when he says. “Thank you.”

“Smile,” Darren whispers, before he pulls back. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

**FRIDAY**

Chris wakes up at four in the morning. 

He doesn’t remember what he’d dreamt about at all. 

He does have a plan now, though. 

He grabs his laptop and and starts to type. Words hit the page in a stream, thoughts and phrases and ideas, like some kind of gate has been left unlatched. It’s an exhilarating feeling, and he doesn’t want to stop. 

He doesn’t want to stop, ever. 

How long has it even been since he’s felt like that about writing? Since he’s been able to clear his mind and concentrate on something other than his job? 

He wants to blink against how blinding that sudden revelation is, but he just laughs and writes some more. 

When he gets the story he wants to tell out - or at least enough that he can trust he’ll be able to fill in the gaps later on - he opens a fresh document and begins to write an entirely different kind of thing. 

By six am, he’s wide awake and dressed, staring at a printed sheet of paper. He can’t even think about eating. The butterflies in his stomach seem like they have wings tipped with lead, and he breaks into a cold sweat if he lets himself think of the outcome of such rash behavior. 

He sits there until seven. No gym today, though the cat won’t let him forget to put down food. He makes a backup copy of the letter just in case and folds it up, putting it into his pocket. 

He can’t remember the last time his drive into work seemed so short. He goes to his office first, but he skips his usual routine. 

It won’t matter anyway. 

He sits at his desk and stares at the emails, not answering a phone. The phone rings and he doesn’t pick it up. He watches the voicemail light blinking. 

Time slips by like it’s nothing and then he can hear his boss’s voice outside in the hallway, laughing that boisterous laugh. 

Chris gets to his feet and walks out. Paul is talking to one of the vice president’s secretaries, and only barely glances over at Chris. Then he realizes Chris is walking directly toward him and looks slightly annoyed. 

_Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to someone,_ Paul had said, in that ice cold voice. Chris hadn’t known any better; it was his first week on the job and the person calling said it was an emergency. 

“I need to speak with you, sir,” Chris says, outwardly respectful and even smiling. 

“Give me five minutes. Just wait in my office with the calendar- hey, do you have my coffee yet?” Paul’s eyes dart to his hands, his empty hands. 

Chris says in a calm but forceful voice, “This is important. I need to speak to you.” 

This time Paul is visibly annoyed. He looks back to the person he was talking to and says, “I’ll be right back, Marissa. Sorry about this. You know how secretaries get.” 

Marissa laughs awkwardly, like she doesn’t want to argue but she doesn’t want to agree, either. It’s okay; Chris isn’t holding it against her. 

Behind a closed office door Paul turns to him and says, “Important?” in a voice that can’t be described any way besides patronizing. 

Chris sees the bag with the outfit he’s supposed to wear tonight sitting by Paul’s desk. Just the sight of the store logo and the memory of Paul’s hands on him gives him the last little kick that he needs. 

He pulls the letter out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. 

Paul’s eyes narrow. He knows what it is immediately but he doesn’t say anything until he opens it and skims it. 

Then crumples it into a ball and tosses it into the trash. For the first time since his conversation with Darren the day before, Chris feels a tremor of fear. 

“You’re not quitting on me. You’re not fucking me over like this, Colfer.” Paul says authoritatively.

He thinks of Darren’s face when he told Chris that it would be okay. 

It will. It will be okay, as soon as Chris walks out of this building. 

“There’s a copy of that letter in your supervisor’s inbox,” Chris says. 

“Well, go fucking get it,” Paul snaps. “You’re not quitting.”

“Her email inbox. Sir.” Chris adds the sir on after a deliberate pause. “I resign. Effective immediately.” 

The idea of giving notice and staying with Paul for an extra two weeks has never even crossed his mind. This was never a bridge he thought he could leave unburnt. 

Then he turns and walks away. Paul comes after him, grabbing his arm. Chris jerks it back. “If you lay one hand on me I’ll report you for harassment.” 

Paul immediately drops his hand and steps back. He’s furious, livid, but he doesn’t stop Chris from walking away again. 

Chris isn’t worth it, and for once Chris is just fine with that. 

Chris is shaking when he gets back to his own office. He shuts the door, locks it, and then slumps against it because he’s not actually sure his legs will hold him up any longer. 

He’s stunned, terrified, and exhilarated all at the same time. 

Then he starts to laugh. He leans his head against the door, palms flat against the carpet under him, and laughs. He laughs until he’s breathless and then gets to his feet, gathers the small collection of personal items that he has here, and walks out for the last time. 

He doesn’t go out to his car, though. He stops on the fourth floor and walks out. It’s awkward with the box of things in his hands, so he puts it down on one of the empty tables and waits until Darren finishes serving the couple of people ahead of him. 

This time he doesn’t miss, or doubt, the way Darren’s face lights up when he sees Chris. 

“Usual?” Darren asks, already reaching for the venti cup. 

“No,” Chris says. “Not today.” 

“Oh?” Darren’s hand drops away from the cup. “Señor Douchebag change his order?” 

“No, I-” Chris licks his lips. “I quit. I resigned. This morning, just now.” 

“No shit!” Darren gapes at him, and then smiles hugely. He wipes his hands on his apron before he yanks it off, and then walks around the stand around grabs Chris, sweeping him up in a hug. 

Chris laughs and hugs back. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Darren mutters, voice fierce. Chris feels a swelling in his chest, the kind tight constriction that an overload of emotion can bring, scary but good. 

He blames what comes out of his mouth next on adrenaline and that scary-but-good feeling.

“Go out with me.” 

He’s immediately terrified, but he doesn’t regret it.

Worst case scenario, Darren says no and Chris never sees him again. 

Darren will probably say no. 

“Yes,” Darren says. 

 

**SATURDAY**

He picks Darren up, because Darren doesn’t actually own a car. He doesn’t see the inside of Darren’s place, since Darren is waiting outside when Chris pulls up. 

“My roommate’s in his underwear,” Darren says, by way of explanation. “I figured introduction to naked roommate was at least a third date thing.” 

“What, you have a schedule for date milestones?” Chris asks. 

“Oh yeah, doesn’t everyone?” Darren leans over to nudge him with an elbow. “Just wait until the sixth date. You’re gonna love that one.”

“Well,” Chris says. “Something to look forward to. Wait, will your roommate be naked when I meet him, too?” 

“Nuh uh,” Darren says. “No way. I can’t risk you thinking he looks better than me.” 

Chris laughs and gets his first good look at Darren when they pull up to a stop sign and he has to pause for traffic. 

Darren looks good. He looks amazing. Scruffy face, hair that has to have at least a little bit of product in it, a tight red t-shirt and beige corduroys that look painted on. Chris has to look straight ahead or else risk being caught flat out ogling. 

Of course, Darren must be doing the same, because the next thing he says is, “So. Dress casual, the guy says, and then shows up looking like he stepped out of a magazine...” 

“This is casual,” Chris protests. 

“Mhm. That hair thing. So casual. Aw - are you blushing? Hey, I didn’t say it didn’t look good...” 

Flirting. Darren is flirting with him. 

Chris has spent the past twenty four hours marveling that Darren agreed to a date and now they’re flirting. 

“Well,” Chris says. “I am newly unemployed, so casual was really just code for cheap, anyway.” 

“Good thing for you I’m a cheap date to begin with.” 

He takes them to a pizza place, not exactly a dive but more than affordable on his budget. Darren gets the meat lovers and makes a joke about not ordering garlic bread that makes Chris’s mind spin with possibilities. 

“So,” Darren says, while they sit and wait for their food to arrive. He looks at Chris and leans forward, like he’s trying to minimize the space between them.“Newly unemployed. How’s that feeling?”

“Scary,” Chris admits. “I don’t have that much money saved, so my parents might be getting a really embarrassing phone call in a couple weeks if I can’t find a new job.” 

“Hmmm.” Darren rests his chin on his palm, elbow on the table. “Writer, right?” 

“Yeah,” Chris says. “But - I mean. I don’t think I’ll be able to really make a living off of that right away. Or maybe ever.” 

“I’ve got this buddy that runs a little indie magazine. I can ask, you know, pull a few strings... see if he needs any office grunts...” 

“I can grunt,” Chris says, then stops and cringes, but laughs at himself while he does it. “And by that I mean, I can do grunt work.” 

“Aw, I thought you were getting sexy on me already...” Darren bites his lip a little and smirks. “Well. Sexier.” 

Chris covers his face with his hands. “Oh my god, did you just say that?” 

“Hey, come on.” Darren reaches out and grabs Chris by the wrists, pulling his hands away. “I will have you know that I showed so much restraint the past couple months, not hitting on you.” 

“You could have,” Chris admits shyly. “I wouldn’t have minded at all.” 

“My roommate got to hear all about the hottie that came down every day at nine. He actually banned me from telling him what you were wearing every day.” 

“I don’t even believe you,” Chris says. “But I guarantee I was worse. How could you not tell I had the hugest crush on you?”

“Hey, you’ll meet him, you’ll see. I mean - I hope you will.” Darren smiles. Darren’s confidence is contagious. “And - I don’t know. I guess you just seemed... distracted, most days. And sad. It bummed me out.” 

“I guess I was,” Chris says. “Distracted. And sad.”

“Besides, I tried flirting with you. You never seemed to give me any signals so I figured you were straight or dating someone already,” Darren says. 

“You did not try and flirt with me,” Chris argues. “And... if you did... I don’t know. I just thought you were friendly.” 

“Well, I’m friendly, just a little bit friendlier to some people...” Darren reaches out and touches the back of Chris’s hand with a fingertip, dragging it over the sensitive skin with a feather light touch. 

Chris looks down and smiles a little, but he’s saved having to respond by their food arriving. 

The meal itself seems to pass too quickly. It’s been a while since Chris has been on a first date, and never with someone he’s had this much mental lead up to. It’s surreal; he’s not used to dreams coming true for him, even a dream so small as getting to go out with the cute guy he’s been drooling over. 

But then they’re done eating, and Chris hasn’t really thought this far. 

Maybe Darren can sense it, or maybe Darren is the kind of guy that just says whatever comes to his mind. “I’ve got a friend playing at a little bar a few blocks over if you wanna go grab a drink?” 

“Yeah,” Chris says, breathing easier. 

“We can walk.” Darren doesn’t hold out his arm for Chris to take - he takes Chris’s first, tucking in beside him. 

Chris notices a few things along the walk. He notices that Darren smells good. He notices that Darren is warm, practically radiating heat. He notices that Darren is shorter than he is - well, he’s realized that before, but it seems more pronounced being shoulder to shoulder. 

Maybe it’s because the moment feels so nice or maybe it’s just because Chris has a self-destructive streak when someone isn’t around to keep him on track, but he chooses that moment to say, “I slept with my boss.” 

Darren doesn’t say anything. 

They keep walking. 

Darren still doesn’t say anything, and it starts to feel awkward. Chris finally clears his throat and says, “Did you-” 

Darren interrupts him. “I slept with one of my TA’s in college.” 

“I - what?” 

“I thought we were sharing?” Darren shrugs and looks over at him. “So you - I mean. Unless it was like, last night or something...” 

“What? No. No!” Chris answers in a slightly panicky voice. “It was - last year. That’s how I met him.” 

“So he wasn’t your boss when you slept with him?”

“No, he wasn’t. We slept together and then he offered me the job.” Chris looks away. “That’s just as bad, isn’t it?”

It’s not like he’s ashamed that he’s had sex before; he’s pretty sure Darren assumed that. He still feels like it reflects badly on him, though. 

He jumps a little bit when he feels Darren’s hand slip into his. “No. It’s not ‘just as bad’, whatever that means. Your boss is a jerk. He’s an _asshole_. And an asshole is an asshole, even if you’ve fucked it.” 

Chris snorts. “Is that your sage advice?” 

“Hey. I’m off the clock.” Darren tugs on Chris’s hand until Chris stops walking and faces him. He tilts his head and gives Chris a little smile. 

“Hi,” Chris says, breathless. 

“Hi,” Darren parrots back. “I wanna get to know you. If you want to start with sexual history, that’s cool, we can start there. A little presumptive but I won’t pretend I wasn’t hoping it was heading in that direction anyway. But just to let you know, it’s not gonna make a difference. That part can just come up... in the right moment. If you want.” 

Darren is still holding his hand, thumb stroking over whatever bits it can reach. 

Chris is dazed, just coherent enough to nod. “Okay.” 

“Good.” Darren beams at him, and then leans forward and cup’s the back of Chris’s neck with his free hand so he can press a brief but firm kiss to Chris’s mouth. 

They fall back into step and Chris realizes that he’s not sure where they’re going. He’s not sure where he’s going, and for the first time in a long time that doesn’t even matter. 

He’s excited to find out what the next day brings him. 

 

**SUNDAY (epilogue)**

Chris doesn’t wake to the sound of an alarm. He wakes to the sound of snoring coming from the man beside him. and his cat making the most ungodly demanding sounds. 

He gets up and feeds Brian, uses the bathroom and brushes his teeth, then stands in the middle of his living room and closes his eyes. There’s a loose kind of soreness to his body that he hasn’t felt in a while and a sense of satisfaction that goes even deeper. 

Bringing Darren home hadn’t been the plan, but a few drinks in the bar and a few kisses and the moment (among other things) had been right there, ready for him to grasp. 

“You don’t have to leave, do you?” Darren asks, standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He rubs his hands over his eyes and manages to look both adorably groggy and sexy enough that Chris immediately begins to get hard. Chris is still naked, so Darren spots it immediately. “You know, I hadn’t pegged you for the kind of guy to walk around your own place naked.” 

“Oh yeah?” Chris asks, checking his phone quickly. A few texts from Ashley, but she can wait. He turns back to Darren. “You mean you actually thought of that.” 

“Mhm.” Darren walks over to him, putting his hands on Chris’s hips and tugging him in until their bodies press intimately. “So. You got plans? Gonna kick me out?” 

Chris shakes his head and leans in for a kiss, Darren’s mouth soft and warm on his. “No plans. Just you.” 

“Good.” Chris steps forward, making Darren step backwards. He keeps doing it until Darren realizes he’s being guided back into the bedroom. 

Darren’s hands drop down and squeeze Chris’s ass, making Chris laugh and say, “Cheeky.” 

“Was - was that a pun?” Darren gapes. “Fuck, I _like_ you, Colfer.” 

“Well. Good,” Chris says again. “Because I like you, too.” 

Once they’re in the bedroom, he uses his foot to kick the door shut behind them.


End file.
